


took the long way home

by mycleverusername



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, M/M, POV David Rose, crushes to enemies to friends to lovers, just a lot of pining, no actual infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycleverusername/pseuds/mycleverusername
Summary: "Did I see you giving out your card? Another young maiden being sold off to a man from a neighboring village in exchange for a herd of cows?” Stevie asks. “Did you meet him? Is it a him?”“No idea,” David replies. “All I know is that her name is Rachel and she’s newly engaged. And she appreciates my good taste, so honestly, as long as they don’t pay me in cows, I truly couldn’t care less who her fiancé is.”It turns out, he does care.An AU based on the 2001 movieThe Wedding Planner.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 89
Kudos: 176





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first multi-chapter story! this is an au based on the 2001 movie _The Wedding Planner_ and set in Schitt's Creek season 3. it is complete and will be updated approximately every other day as I finish up final edits. 
> 
> For the sake of this story, please imagine that Patrick and Rachel are from/live somewhere in the greater Schitt's Creek/Elmdale area.
> 
> title is from taylor swift of course.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Look at me,” David says calmly. The bride’s blue eyes dart wildly around the room, chest heaving. “Over here.” 

He puts his hands on her bare shoulders to ground her and rubs small circles with his thumbs. “You’re perfect. You’re exquisite. Your body is absolutely bangin’ in this dress. Everyone is here, everything is ready, and the place looks beautiful. And most importantly,” he takes a deep breath. He still isn’t used to the level of sincerity this job requires of him on a daily basis. “Most importantly, you have Brad standing there and waiting for you at the end of the aisle. Brad, who is kind, and good, and who loves you. You know what he said to me the other day?” David pauses for dramatic effect. “He said, ‘I can’t believe she picked me. I can’t believe I get to marry the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ ”

She smiles broadly, showing all her teeth. Her breath begins to even out. “Really?”

“Really,” he swears. Not really – David doesn’t think he’s ever even spoken to the guy one-on-one. But Caroline and Brad seem like a strong couple with as good of a shot at making it work as anyone, so David doesn’t feel too guilty about the lie. Especially because it serves its intended purpose.

Caroline picks up her bouquet off the table and moves towards the door where the bridal party is huddled, ready to fall in line. “I’m ready.”

David signals to the maid of honor to pick up Caroline’s train; the procession assembles. “Wonderful.” He scans the room. Tugs on the skirt of the flower girl’s dress to straighten it, smooths a flyaway on the head of a bridesmaid. Fiddles with his own cufflinks, tightening them. “Let’s get you married.”

* * *

David never thought he’d plan anybody’s wedding but his own. Then again, he could say the same about 95% of the things he’d done since landing in Schitt’s Creek. David had been fired from a trial run as a grocery bag boy and accidentally drove a skanky women’s clothing store out of business while trying to make it slightly less horrible. If he must work for a living, wedding planning at least allows him to be his own boss and maintain control of the aesthetics of his own environment. No synthetic aprons or busty mannequins allowed. 

His first opportunity came entirely by chance. During one interminable shift at the Blouse Barn, a distinguished middle-aged woman with thick grey hair came into the store. She was the rare customer whose mere existence didn’t make David gag. The woman complimented the recent changes to the decor and the merchandise. When she found out David was responsible, she asked if he would be available to consult on some creative decisions for her daughter’s wedding. David quickly jumped at the chance to make a little extra cash and flex his design muscles.

As it turns out, David is good at wedding planning. No: he’s great at it, goddamnit. His weddings are beautiful, of course, but they also run with the precision of a Swiss watch. David has always known how to throw a legendary party; his art galleries were as famous for their monthly ragers as their exhibitions, if not more. He knows how to haggle with a caterer and corral a group of disjointed waitstaff. Every guest at a David Rose wedding feels like they’re living a life of penthouse luxury, even if Elm County brides tend to have lower Veuve Clicquot and cocaine budgets than New York City performance artists. David does it all with little more than a bullet journal and his overactive imagination. 

Still, not every event planner makes a good wedding planner. David’s secret weapon? His wedding dream book, full of tablescapes and flower-covered chuppahs and sandy beaches. He’s been curating it since childhood. At the age of nine, he lost privileges to the Rose family’s in-home movie theater for a week when his mother caught him snipping tulle from the underskirt of one of her gowns to add to the book. (He didn’t comply with his punishment – it was a miracle Moira stood still long enough to decree it, let alone enforce it). He kept his dream book updated throughout the years as trends changed, and then changed again. He watched and re-watched his favorite rom-com weddings until he could sketch them from memory onto its pages. Ultimately, David has been preparing for this gig his whole life. 

David would never admit it – it contradicts the detached, aloof air he tries so hard to project to the world – but making people’s wedding days perfect for them brings him great _joy._ Something about two people standing up in front of all their friends and family and pledging their lifelong commitment to each other makes David’s inner hopeless romantic sing. He often finds himself standing in the back of a ceremony wiping away a stray tear while a couple struggles to get through their vows without breaking down. Even if it’s seeming more and more doubtful he’ll ever find someone to want him forever, or at least until they can reasonably claim irreconcilable differences, in those moments he always feels a blossom of hope. 

After the success of his first wedding – a simple, classy backyard affair – David’s fledgling business grew steadily through effusive word-of-mouth. When the Blouse Barn closed for good, he threw himself into wedding planning full-time, even employing Alexis’ help to create a social media presence to showcase his work. David has accepted that he’ll never be anywhere near as rich as he once was, but at least the Rose family no longer has to run a tab at the Café Tropical. Plus, David loves any chance to model his extensive designer formalwear collection that would otherwise be gathering dust in the Love Room. 

He could do without the drunk old ladies or the drunk fraternity brothers or the drunk maid of honor and the drunk best man dry-humping in the middle of the dance floor. But for now, at least, David is happy in a career that found him.

* * *

David walks the perimeter of the dance floor at Caroline and Brad’s reception, proud of the elegance he’d created on a tight budget and in a truly unfortunate dark, wood-paneled reception hall. It’s unrecognizable, now, covered in swaths of white gauze with candles on every flat surface. Fairy lights line the walls and hang between beams on the ceiling. The centerpieces look chic, even though they have like, actual twigs in them. David’s pretty sure the florist just went outside and foraged for sticks, but somehow it all works.

He snaps a few photos of the party in full swing and pops over to Instagram to check on his most recent post.

davidroseweddings **. . .** Liked by **lilbitalexis** and **44 others**  
**davidroseweddings** gorgeous celebration today #CarolinesGotItBrad #wedding #farmhousechic #weddingplanner View all 3 comments 2 hours ago

45 likes in 2 hours – nothing like he used to get for scantily clad selfies, but not bad for a new business still finding its footing. And Alexis has recently convinced him to start using (shudder) hashtags, so hopefully more curious brides will find his feed soon.

Besides admiring his own work, David is also on the look-out for any of the aforementioned drunk idiots. None yet, but he needs to keep an eye on Stevie, whom he sees snatching a third glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray. Caroline had been kind enough to offer him a plus one, and the invitation to enjoy an open bar paid off several outstanding favors with his best friend. Still, it would not be good for his brand if his date was the one responsible for any shenanigans. A tap on the shoulder stops his patrol in its tracks.

“You’re David, right? The wedding planner?” A petite redhead asks. “You did such a great job. It’s gorgeous in here. Farmhouse chic is so overdone these days, but you managed to make it look fresh.”

David likes her immediately – clearly, she has taste. “That’s me. And thank you.”

“I’m Rachel,” she says, extending a hand to shake. “I went to college with Caroline, and she cannot stop talking about how much she loves working with you.”

“That’s so kind of you to say,” David replies, flashing his customer service smile. “Caroline has been an absolute joy throughout this whole process.”

“Oh, you don’t have to lie to me,” Rachel laughs. “Caroline is a piece of work and she always has been.”

David smiles hesitantly, wondering if he’s walked into a trap. “I actually got engaged recently,” Rachel continues, and only then does David notice the ring. It’s a modest, unflashy silver band, plain but for a small diamond on top. “My fiancé and I would love to talk to you about hiring you for our wedding.”

David lights up. He loves new clients, blank checks and blank slates who haven’t yet driven him crazy with indecision or terribly misguided opinions on floral arrangements. “I would love that,” he answers genuinely, pulling a business card out of the chest pocket of his grey pinstripe Dries Van Noten suit and handing it to Rachel. “Why don’t you text me your availability for an initial consultation sometime this week? We can talk details and vision then, and pricing, of course. Get a contract signed, if you’re interested.”

Rachel smiles and tucks the business card into the bodice of her dress. “I’ve been following you on Insta for a while and I’m always so impressed with your stuff. You must live such a romantic life to come up with the inspiration for all of it.”

David holds in a snort for the sake of professionalism. If only Rachel knew just how little romance there is in his life at the moment (and… always). Unless your entire family walking in on the aftermath of your hookup with the town himbo counts as romantic? David doubts it. “I adore designing, and I find inspiration in my clients’ love for each other,” he says diplomatically.

“That’s so nice, David,” she says. “I will text you soon! Promise!” she squeals, and surprises him with a quick hug before bouncing off to join her dancing friends.

A glass of champagne enters his field of vision, held in Stevie’s outstretched hand. He takes it and clinks it against hers.

“David, I am honestly impressed,” she remarks. This is the first time Stevie has come to one of his weddings. “It looks really nice in here, and this champagne is surprisingly tasty considering what you’ve told me about the budget.”

“Please. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being poor, it’s how to find the tastiest alcohol at the cheapest possible price.”

“A valuable skill,” Stevie agrees. “And did I see you giving out your card? Another young maiden being sold off to a man from a neighboring village in exchange for a herd of cows?” She asks. “Did you meet him? Is it a him?”

“No idea,” David replies. “All I know is that her name is Rachel and she’s newly engaged. And she appreciates my good taste, so honestly, as long as they don’t pay me in cows, I truly couldn’t care less who her fiancé is.”

They toast to that. Stevie adjusts her boobs in her little black dress to ensure maximum perkiness. She was almost as excited at the prospect of fresh randoms as she was about the open bar when David invited her to come. He’s been surveying the options but has yet to spot anyone worthy of her, in his not-so-humble opinion. 

The beginnings of a commotion stir on the dancefloor. David looks at his watch – indeed, it’s about the right time for the alcohol to start affecting the guests’ decision-making and fine motor skills. He drains the rest of his champagne and hands the empty glass to Stevie.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten my waitress uniform at home,” she quips. 

“The wedding planner’s job isn’t done until the last guest leaves and the last rental is returned safely,” he informs her. “Duty calls.”


	2. chapter two

Two large “liquidation” signs in the windows of the General Store catch David’s eye as he puts the family car in park and climbs out, but he doesn’t have time to linger. He walks briskly towards the Café Tropical and pauses in the doorway to catch his breath before entering, immediately spotting Stevie waiting for him in their usual booth.

“Only five minutes late. A new record.”

“Oh, choke on a hashbrown.” David settles into the booth and tosses the keys to the Lincoln on the table. Now that brides are paying him to be in specific places at specific times, his overall punctuality is much improved, thank you very much.

“Hi guys, what can I get for you today?” Twyla’s perky voice doesn’t even startle him anymore – a clear sign he’s lived in this town for far too long.

“Coffee. My usual, please, Twyla. But make it a large. I have been up since the absolute crack of dawn.”

“So, 8:30?”

“None of that from you,” he snarks back at Stevie. “It was 8:15, I’ll have you know. I had a meeting with a new client.”

“Wow, David,” Twyla sings. “You know, it is seriously impressive what you’re doing, building your business from scratch, making a name for yourself.” 

“Thank you, Twyla,” David says proudly, genuinely touched. 

“It’s much better than my aunt’s third husband, he also made a name for himself, but it was on the Elm County Most Wanted List.” David’s face falls immediately as he’s reminded how low Twyla’s standards are. “Stevie, can I get you a refill?”

Stevie nods. Twyla tucks her order pad back into her apron and heads off to help another table.

“So. A new client? Who, that bouncy ginger from the wedding?”

“Mhm. Rachel. She and her fiancé were high school sweethearts, ew, and he proposed on Christmas morning, which, could they get more cliché?” Stevie grimaces appropriately. “Anyway, she seems nice enough. Super early on in the planning process and I think she’s going to need a lot of help. She didn’t have a clear answer to any of my questions, kept saying she and her fiancé needed to sit down and make some decisions about timeline and theme and this and that. But she agreed to my full fee, so. Lunch is on Rachel and the nameless fiancé today.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Stevie says. “Ooh, should we get mimosas?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

She sips at the dregs of her coffee. “Did you see that the General Store is going out of business?”

“I saw several tacky signs that implied that was the case when I parked a few minutes ago,” David confirms. “Do you know what happened?”

Stevie shrugs. “Nope.”

“I really can’t say I’m surprised. It’s like they knew what the consumer wanted, and then ran in the opposite direction. They just missed the mark. I mean, that store in the right hands could be very lucrative.” No one wants to drive all the way to Elmdale to buy essentials, but there isn’t another acceptable option, and with the General Store closing there won’t even be an unacceptable option.

“And by the right hands, you mean your hands?” Stevie questions, eyebrows raised. 

“I mean someone with faultless taste who understands what people want and need. And if those happen to be my hands, then…” He can’t say he’s never thought about it before. The location in the center of town, the huge windows flooding the space in natural light, the original wood floors… the General Store may be an utter disaster now, but it doesn’t have to be.

“So why don’t you do something about it?” Stevie prods.

“I’m pretty sure that telling them they’ve driven their store into the ground might be rubbing salt into the wound.” It’s a little harsh, even for David.

“No, I’m saying that you keep talking about how you would’ve done things differently, and the store is going out of business, so. Now’s your chance.”

Hmm. Stevie is always hard to read. “Ok, your eyebrows never moved? So I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or not.”

“I think you should put what little money you have where your mouth is.” Oh, so she’s goading him. 

“I do have an excellent idea, and most of the money left over from the Blouse Barn settlement, but…” David loves a challenge, but he’s not sure he’s equipped to take on one of this magnitude. “I don’t know the first thing about opening a new business!”

“First thing, you’re going to need to file incorporation papers with the county and also with the province,” a voice intones.

David looks up to see a stranger in gray sweatpants, a navy blue t-shirt, and some truly tragic mountaineering shoes holding a to-go cup and standing at the edge of their table.

“Do I know you?” He sneers.

“Oh,” the man smiles sheepishly. “I’m Patrick.” He reaches out and a hand to shake and David takes it, reluctantly. “I was just passing through town after a hike, and well, I heard you talking about needing help with getting your business off the ground.”

"David," he answers. 

"Stevie," she waves. 

Normally David can’t be bothered to talk to strangers, but this one, as he looks closer, is quite cute, with short brown hair, pale skin, and a compact but solid build. “You’re extremely sure of yourself,” he flirts.

“Well, this is what I do for a living. Business consulting. And I have an MBA.”

David waves a hand in dismissal. “You can do math, big whoop. So can the calculator on my phone.” Patrick beams as if David hasn’t just insulted his life’s work.

“I need to get back to the motel to do a check-in,” Stevie interjects. David startles, having forgotten she was there. “But you two should stay and talk about this.” She shoots him an odd look, and then a thumbs up. He squints back at her, confused. “It’s actually an emergency so I’m going to take your car,” she says, snatches the keys off the table, and runs out the door before he can say no.

“Is she okay?”

At some point in the confusion, Patrick had taken Stevie’s seat across from him. He removes the top from his cup, pulls out the teabag, and takes a sip.

“Honestly,” David replies. “I’ve been asking myself that question since the day we met.”

Patrick smirks. “So, tell me about your business.”

“Hmm. It’s not a business, yet. Just an idea.”

“So give me your elevator pitch.” Patrick replaces the top on the cup.

David narrows his eyes at the stranger. “Elevator? It’s an idea for a store.”

Patrick chuckles. “I mean, tell me about your idea. What’s the store called?”

“I definitely haven’t gotten that far. I’m still oscillating between several options.”

Patrick looks at David with fond amusement in his eyes. “That’s fine, David. You have plenty of time to… oscillate. What about, a brief description of the business?”

“Well,” David attempts to gather his swimming thoughts. “It’s a general store, but it’s also a very specific store. It's also not just a store, it's like a place where people can come and get coffee or drinks, but it's not a coffee shop, nor is it a bar.”

“So we’re pretty clear on what it’s not.” Patrick smiles at him with his chin in his hand. God, he must think David’s an idiot.

“Yeah, it's an environment.” And he can’t stop the word vomit. “And yes, we will be selling things, but it's more like a branded immersive experience.” David waves circles in the air to illustrate the environment. Patrick stays silent. “It’s just…it’s really only the beginnings of an idea. The seed, if you will.”

“One large caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder,” Twyla interrupts, thankfully, before David can talk himself into any more corners. “I think I finally got it right! And here!” She puts a plate of fried potatoes down on the table. “I overheard someone say they wanted hashbrowns!”

“Mhmm. Sure. Thank you Twyla.” David takes a sip. “Oh, that’s quite nice today.”

“Yay! Can I get you anything else?”

David shakes his head, and Twyla leaves. Patrick is still staring at him. “What?”

“That is… an elaborate coffee order, David.”

“Yes, well, I can’t help it that I have good taste.”

Patrick holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I do want to talk about your business idea.”

David grits his teeth. “You hate it.”

“No! I just don’t really understand it,” Patrick says. He sips his tea. “Why don’t you… give me an example. An example of something you might sell.”

David takes a moment to savor the caramel and chocolate notes of his coffee while he tries to think of the best example. As usual, his mind turns to cheese. “Do you know Heather Warner? She owns a goat farm nearby and she makes the most incredible cheese. But right now she only sells it if you drive out to her farm, or a couple times a year when she can make it to a farmer’s market. I want to make her cheese available for sale every day, in a central location. On consignment, under my brand.”

“Yes, David,” Patrick nods vigorously. “That’s great.”

David dives into his surprise hashbrowns with gusto. “And there are other people, too,” he says around a mouthful of potato. He swallows. “Local artisans who make body milk and silk scarves and alpaca blankets… But. Well. Like I said, it’s really only an idea at this point.”

“It’s a great idea,” Patrick says. “I honestly think you have something here. Rebranding local products and crafts, it’s very inventive, and a sustainable business model.”

David nods, letting his mind wander over across the street to where he parked his car not an hour before. Could this actually be something worth pursuing? “Oh fuck.” The car. He checks the time on his phone. “I have to get home and change before my next meeting and Stevie has absconded with my car.”

“That was quite rude of her to abscond,” Patrick’s smile widens. Has this guy stopped smiling once all day? People in this town are much happier to be alive than their circumstances seem to call for. “I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to.” He takes one last, long gulp of his tea and leaves the cup on the table as he stands. “Come on, I’m parked right outside.”

David follows. He can’t put his finger on why, but he feels like he might follow Patrick anywhere. They buckle in and David directs Patrick the short distance to the motel.

Patrick drives in silence for a long moment, until he says, “You know, you’re going to need a lot of startup money.”

“Yeah,” David sucks in a breath. “Know any stupidly rich people?” David wishes, for the millionth time that day, that he still was one himself.

“No, unfortunately,” Patrick laughs. “But, when you’re supporting local businesses there are grants that you can apply for. And I would be happy to assist you with those applications.”

“Well,” David pauses. Years in New York have made him skeptical of unsolicited offers of help. What does this stranger want from him, really? “I’ve heard that those kinds of things are really competitive and hard to get,” he hedges.

“Oh, I’m gonna get the money.” David’s stomach drops out of his feet. Confidence always does it for him, and today is no exception.

Patrick pulls the car into park in front of the motel. “I’m really glad that I decided to come talk to you about your business idea today,” he says.

“That is a lovely thing for you to say.”

“And I’m so glad you did, Patrick, because you validated me and made me feel confident I have a great idea that could help my town and make me a lot of money.”

“Mm!” David exclaims. “A bold claim.”

Patrick stares at David. He’s been staring since they met, if he thinks about it. Staring and smiling. Patrick’s gaze flickers down to David’s mouth. David’s not great at reading signs, but he thinks he’s getting this one right. He leans in…

A guest slams the door to room four, and the two men jump backwards. Awkward silence settles over the car. David briefly considers going in for the kiss again, but Patrick is staring stubbornly at his lap and the moment has certainly passed.

Patrick shifts in his seat and pulls a business card out of his wallet. “Take this, it’s my card. And I feel like you will need it. You know. For grants, and stuff. Business. Or… other stuff.”

“Yes,” David agrees, as he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the car. “For business. Or other stuff. Thanks. For this, and the ride. Um. I’ll call you? If I decide to, you know, pursue this.” He shuts the passenger door and waves awkwardly as Patrick drives away, head spinning faster than the tires on the gravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting early because tomorrow will be, um, busy. to my readers in the united states, if you're an eligible voter, please, please, please wear a mask, get in line, and vote for Biden/Harris.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter three! enjoy :)

For the rest of the day, the rest of the week, in meetings with brides and with vendors, David’s mind wanders to the store. And to Patrick. And to Patrick’s insistence that the store would work. But mostly to the man himself, and his eyes, so soft and reassuring. It’s crazy, it’s all crazy – for one thing, David already has a job that keeps him busy enough, when would he possibly have time to open a store? And for another, why did he get in a car with a stranger? Was he trying to get murdered and dumped in a ditch?

He sometimes pulls out Patrick’s business card and finds himself absentmindedly tracing the “PB” embossed on the back. David wonders what the ‘B’ stands for. Brown? Baker? Bell? He thinks about calling Patrick about twice an hour, only to talk himself out of it every time. Once he even dials, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. What would he possibly say? “Hi, it’s David, the idiot from the café? Do you want to give me more free help and also maybe date me?” Gross, absolutely repulsive. He jams on the home button and shoves his phone in a drawer to resist the temptation.

“David, have you seen my grey silk tie?” Johnny, as usual, ignores the ‘knock first’ rule.

“Where would I have possibly seen your – oh,” David realizes he did, in fact, take that tie for his last wedding because his equivalent was at the dry cleaner. He fishes it out of the back of his wardrobe and hands it over.

“You know, son, it’s awfully impressive what you’re building for yourself here. All on your own.” Johnny runs his finger along the smooth fabric of the tie. David feels suspicious; the sincerity makes him itchy. “But you know, you’re still young, and you shouldn’t be neglecting the more personal, and uh, sensual side of life.”

“Eww-uh,” David exclaims. “Please never say the word ‘sensual’ to me again.”

“You work too much! Why don’t you take the night off? Call up your friend Jake, perhaps?”

“Oh my god,” David shakes his head back and forth, index fingers pressed to his temples. “Jake and I are over. We have been for weeks.”

“Yes, well, I can’t say I’m surprised, it never seemed too serious between you. But maybe you should give him a second chance! Tell him you want something more serious, and, uh, monogamous.”

“I do _not_ want that,” David says. “With Jake. I do not want that with Jake.”

“Oh! Is there someone else? That’s exciting, son!”

“We are not having this conversation,” David vows. “Besides, I have to go, I’m meeting a bride.”

“Well, son, if you ever need any advice, about your business, or more personal subjects for that matter—” The door slams behind David as he makes his escape. 

Thankfully, Johnny is gone by the time David realizes he left his phone in his nightstand drawer and slinks back inside to retrieve it.

* * *

David spots Rachel in the lobby of the dance studio, dressed in grey leggings and a blue workout tank top. She waves, a bright grin splitting her face as she bounces up and down on her toes. David wouldn’t normally go with his clients to dance lessons, but Rachel thought it would be a good chance for him to finally meet her fiancé – Patty, Rachel calls him. While most grooms aren’t particularly involved in the planning process (a bastion of heteronormativity David would very much love to destroy, but there are only so many hours in a day), it would still be useful to get to know the guy a little.

“David!” She rises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Maybe that explains the bouncing, it’s a short people thing. David certainly wouldn’t know anything about that. “Thank you so much for coming!”

“My pleasure,” he replies. “This is helpful for me, actually. If Derek’s any good, I’ll ask him for a deal for sending my clients here. My couples are always looking for a good dance teacher.” Not everyone took ballroom dance lessons at boarding school, David has recently learned.

“You’re in a good mood,” Rachel remarks. “What happened? Did you meet someone?” David swallows a grin – is he that obvious or does she just have a sixth sense for gossip? “Oh my god, you did! Spill!”

“It probably won’t turn into anything,” he tries to wave away her interest. “Ok, fine, I was having coffee with my friend at the café the other day, talking about how I needed business advice, and this guy came over and just gave me advice. He was… nice, I don’t know.”

“And?” Rachel leans into the gossip. “What happened?

“Nothing, nothing,” Rachel grabs David’s arm and leads him into the studio space. “Well, almost something. We almost kissed.”

“Have you seen him since?”

David sighs. “No. He gave me his number, but I haven’t called. Should I call?”

“Yes! Call! Call!” Rachel claps. “Oh, there he is, finally – Patty! Patty, over here!”

David turns, and he thinks he might be having a stroke? He can’t move his face, or his limbs? Because there, in front of him, is Patrick. Patrick, wearing the same exact outfit he was wearing when David met him several days ago. Hiking and dancing are two completely different forms of exercise, but David supposes Patrick doesn’t own dance clothes. That makes sense, because David can see Patrick walking towards them, and the man seems athletic, but he is not… graceful. (Still, in David’s brain, there’s a voice chanting _thighs thighs thighs thighs thighs,_ buzzing like a fly he can’t swat.) And those thighs come closer and closer until suddenly they’re very close indeed, and David needs his brain to finish rebooting immediately, because Patrick’s huge eyes are trained on him and Rachel is talking.

“David, this is Patrick, and Patrick, this is David, our wedding planner!” David can hear Derek calling the class to order somewhere in the background of his consciousness. “Oh, I’m so happy you two are finally meeting!”

Rachel practically vibrates with joy. Patrick and David stare, standing still as statues.

“Hi,” Patrick says finally, and reaches to shake David’s hand for their second introduction.

“Hi.” David must have done some pretty fucked up shit in a past life to deserve the pure, painful awkwardness of this moment. Derek the dance instructor is still talking – oh, shit, he’s talking to them. They’re standing directly in the middle of the dancefloor, oops.

“Patrick?” Rachel has noticed the tension. David’s not surprised; you could cut it with a knife. “Is everything ok?”

“Fine, fine,” Patrick shakes his head. “I’m just… nervous about the class.”

Rachel’s phone rings and all three of them jump. “Oh crap, I have to take this,” she mutters. “David, can you dance with Patty? Please? He needs too much help to wait for me! Hi, Dad,” she says into the phone, and runs off before either one of them can protest.

“Ok, are we all ready now? Great, welcome everyone! We’re going to start today with a basic box step…”

This is bad. With couples stumbling through box steps all around them, they’re going to have to participate if only to avoid a collision. Reluctantly, David places one of Patrick’s hands on his waist and reaches to hold the other.

“What—”

“I know you’re shorter, but you have to lead since that’s what you’ll be doing for the real thing.” Patrick stares, unmoving. “Ok, go, please? It’s not hard, step front, together, side, together, back, together, you get it.” They start to move. Patrick does not get it, really. “Ow!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be, these are expensive shoes.” The shock of seeing Patrick again has faded, and David finds anger in its place. “Patty, hmm?”

Patrick sighs as he trips over his own feet. “It’s a stupid nickname.”

“I have a better nickname for you, how about lying, cheating, sleazy—”

“Hey, hey, if you’re thinking—”

“What I’m thinking involves a machete and a pair of pliers,” David spits out. The logical part of his brain knows that he is probably overreacting, but nothing about his feelings for Patrick are logical.

“Okay, let me explain,” Patrick stomps on David’s toe _again_ in his thick, heavy, ugly boots, and the throbbing pain does _not_ calm his anger. “The day that we met, I had been on a hike to clear my head. I had a fight with Rachel because I didn’t want to go to a meeting with our wedding planner, who turned out to be you, of all people, but I didn’t know that. She wanted me to come but I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“No, you didn’t come because you don’t want to get married. I see it all the time,” David taunts.

Patrick stops them, mouth gaping open. David’s toes are grateful for the rest, but it’s short-lived, as Derek spots them and yells, “Keep practicing, everyone!” 

“You see _what_?” Patrick pushes David around a little more forcefully than before.

“Why didn’t you tell Rachel that we’d met? She could tell something was weird when she ‘introduced’ us before.” Patrick has no answer. “Exactly. You think you want to get married, but you don’t.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? Then why did you flirt with me?” David notices, reluctantly, that Patrick’s shoulder muscle is firm under his hand.

“I wasn’t flirting, I was giving you advice! Because I know about business! And I like to help people, so sue me.”

“Oh sure, you’re so innocent. Then why did you drive me home, give me your card, and offer to fill out paperwork for me? That’s a little beyond just being nice.” This stupid, frustrating, cocky little man. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Well, then why did you almost kiss me?”

“I didn’t!” David’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “And even if I did, I’m not the one who’s engaged!”

“It was only paperwork, it didn’t mean anything,” Patrick volleys.

“Then why did _you_ almost kiss _me_?"

Patrick blinks, his once warm eyes now tinged with cold anger. The music stops and Rachel rushes in.

“How’d he do?” She asks.

David snorts. “He needs a lot of work. He has legs like tree trunks.”

“Don’t I know it,” Rachel agrees. “He almost broke my foot at senior prom.”

Patrick looks even more beautiful with red-flushed cheeks, somehow. David hates himself for noticing. “Guys, I’m trying my best here.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Rachel coos. Gross. “More importantly. My parents found a vineyard two hours from here they think could be the perfect venue. They booked us a tour for Saturday!”

“Okay, great,” Patrick breathes, and turns to David. “David, it was great to meet you, and thanks for dancing with me. We’ll call you and let you know about the venue.”

“What are you talking about? He’s coming with us, silly!”

“I am?” Right, that’s his job. “Yep! I am. Saturday.”

Patrick glares, but Rachel doesn’t notice. She hugs David, grabs Patrick’s bicep, and leads him towards the middle of the dancefloor to finish the class.

David leans against the nearest wall and bangs his head back against it. Fuck.


	4. chapter four

# stevie

####  **Today** 10:24 AM

David
     I’m quitting this wedding 

Stevie
    which wedding

David
    Rachel

Stevie
    Aren’t you touring a venue with them right now

David
    currently in the backseat of her fiance’s car

Stevie
    lol
    is there enough room for your giraffe legs

David
    no
    I’m squished
    for two hours 😭

David switches the cross of his legs, searching for a little extra comfort. No such luck. But if Patrick feels David’s knees jam into his back like he’s sitting in front of a toddler on an airplane, that makes up for the muscle aches. He knees the seat again with a little more intent, just in case. His phone buzzes with Stevie’s reply.

Stevie
    srry but that is not a good enough reason to quit a wedding

David
     … thats not why

Stevie
    then what’s wrong?
    Does she want to do an under the sea theme?

He shudders in sheer horror. David doesn’t usually get car sick, but he could definitely puke right now. Still, he would rather blue cellophane and decorative fish than the mess he currently finds himself in.

David
    I wish it were that simple

Stevie
    ur freaking me out
    it’s not like ur in love with one of them

David
     … 

Stevie
    WHAT?????

David
    not LOVE.
    but...like?? It’s complicated

Understatement of the century.

Stevie
    Rachel is cute but I didn’t think she was ur type??

David
    not Rachel

Stevie
    her fiance?

David
    it’s Patrick

Stevie
    ...who?

David
    Patrick. The business guy from the cafe

Stevie
    Rachel’s fiance is the BUSINESS GUY???
    didn’t he try to smooch you??

Well, it was kind of the other way around, but Patrick seemed into it, so that clarification isn’t especially necessary here.

David
    yep
    lol
    my life is a disaster

Stevie
    David.
    U r not allowed to quit this wedding.
    U need the $ for the store.

David
    you know Christmas world got the space right???
    store isn’t happening

Stevie
    There will be another space
    David rose doesn’t quit
    anymore

Thinly veiled insult aside, Stevie knows how to light a fire under his ass. Gone are the days when he lets anyone make him feel like he’s not enough. And nothing motivates him more than proving people wrong.

David
    you know what
    you’re right

Stevie
    oooh say it again!!!

David
    I will do this wedding
    I will show this jackass that I am the bigger person
    I am a goddamn professional!!

Stevie
    drink a lot of wine, ur not driving

David
    good plan

Stevie
    come over after?
    I found a joint under the bed in room 2

David
    that’s disgusting
    yes

Stevie
    go get em, tiger

David locks his phone and leans back against the headrest, closing his eyes. He catalogs the last few weeks, cursing the sequence of events that have, improbably, led him here. Curled up in the backseat with his knees practically folded into his chest – this is, overall, much less pleasant than David’s previous experience in Patrick’s car. No. don’t think about that. Don’t think about Patrick’s baseless, sincere faith in him or his warm, supportive eyes that were almost enough to make David believe in himself.

Deep breaths. In, out. How much longer is this drive? Maybe he can catch a quick nap. God knows he could use the extra sleep. David stayed up all night after the disastrous dance class writing his application for the General Store lease, running on pure spite. David would make the store a success and he would do it on his own; he doesn’t need any help from lying, cheating, cute boys. He is truly proud of the business plan he drafted for Rose Apothecary. The store would be as timeless as its name.

And then. All the professional confidence he’d ever built crumbled in an instant the next day when the extent of his parents’ financial involvement in the galleries came to light. Not only did David lose his bid for the lease, but he lost to the truly nauseating, cheery monsters at Christmas World. And, for the cherry on top of this shit sundae, Moira announced she simply must take the car that weekend to the Regional Municipalities Conference in Thornbridge, leaving David no choice but to ask Rachel and Patrick to pick him up on their way to the venue.

“Alright, I have a game!” Rachel’s perky voice jerks him rudely out of his half-sleep. “I was thinking, and I realized, we don’t have a song!”

“Mm, you and Taylor Swift both.”

Patrick snorts. It’s the first noise he’s made this entire car ride, now that David thinks about it.

“Very funny, David,” Rachel deadpans. “But seriously. The first dance will set the tone for like, the rest of our marriage. So! I found this [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1lIZ6WbbJH4MoB3Fn5n6pG) and I thought we could shuffle it and see what inspires us.”

She fishes the aux cord out of the center console and plugs in her phone. David swears to himself that he will not comment, no matter how mushy and incorrect the songs get. A [familiar guitar lick](https://open.spotify.com/track/11bD1JtSjlIgKgZG2134DZ) fills the car.

“Oh my god, wedding planner veto,” David snaps. So much for keeping his mouth shut. Patrick meets his gaze in the rear view mirror, a smirk in his eyes. If David wasn’t positive that Tyra Banks had changed her phone number by now, he would call her and tell her to get on a plane this instant and come to rural Ontario to meet the true master of the smize. “I’m sorry, but do you really want your guests to be thinking about Izzy Stevens sobbing over Denny Duquette’s dead body during your first dance?”

Rachel ponders this. “Well, David, I’m not sure that many of our guests remember season two of Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Patrick asks. “That’s my mom’s favorite show. She still watches it every week.”

“Fine, fine, next.” She fiddles with her phone. “Oh, I love [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/4Hhv2vrOTy89HFRcjU3QOx)! It’s so romantic!”

David closes his eyes and lets Etta James’ smooth voice wash over him. “Patty, what do you think?” Rachel asks.

“Hmm,” he pauses. “It’s nice. But I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“The whole song is about how she finds her love after searching for a long time. We met when we were 7 years old.”

Rachel heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Sometimes you are too literal for your own good. David?”

“While this song, and the Beyoncé version in particular, is gorgeous, it is a bit… overdone.”

“Tough crowd here, ok, next song.”

David hears strings. Softly at first, then swelling. He knows he knows this song but he can’t quite place it. This will drive him nuts. He wishes he still had Shazam. Does anyone still use Shazam? And then the lyrics kick in.

“[I could stay awake](https://open.spotify.com/track/225xvV8r1yKMHErSWivnow), just to hear you breathing…”

Oh NO. No, no, no. David wants to gag. And throw the phone out the car window. And open the door and jump out like Lady Bird. Because “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” might honestly be the soppiest, most disgusting, least David Rose-approved song of all time. And he’s not only saying that because he once went on a date with Liv Tyler that ended with him humiliating himself by singing this exact song in a New York karaoke bar in an ill-fated attempt to impress her.

“Patty!! It’s perfect!” Rachel cheers, and she reaches out a hand to rub Patrick’s forearm. She twists in her seat to face David. “Patrick and I saw Armageddon in the movie theater for our first date!”

“Mmm!” David tries to smile but thinks it probably looks more like a grimace, whoops. “That is _so_ special, Rachel.” Wait. “Um, how old were you?”

“We were in the sixth grade,” Patrick contributes. “It wasn’t actually a date.”

Rachel smacks him lightly on the arm. “We held hands the whole time!”

“Your mom was sitting two rows behind us!”

“Still,” Rachel insists. “It was our first date.”

Over the speaker system, Steven Tyler sings about wanting to stay in this moment forever. David wishes this moment would end immediately. Finally, Patrick says, “You’re right. It was our first date, and it was special. This is the perfect song.” They intertwine hands over the gearshift and make gooey eyes at each other. David throws up a little in his mouth.

“David!” Rachel exclaims. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Speaking of looove. What ever happened with that guy? The one who offered you business advice and gave you his number?”

The car swerves abruptly into the next lane. “Sorry!” Patrick says. “I…thought I saw a deer.”

Rachel is undeterred. “Well, David?”

“Nothing. It didn’t work out.” David’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest and it isn’t because they all just shared a near-death experience.

“Aww, that sucks! I saw you _days_ after you met him, and you were still walking around with stars in your eyes.”

As if Patrick’s big ego needed an excuse to grow any bigger. Time to put a pin in that. “I thought he was a nice guy, but as it turns out, he’s actually engaged.”

“No!” Rachel gasps. “That is _so_ gross, David. Ew, I would hate to be single with so many creeps out there. Thank God I never had to do Tinder.” She squeezes Patrick’s hand.

“Yeah, Rachel,” David intones. “You are so lucky to have a guy like Patrick.” David sees Patrick’s shoulders tense as his message is received, loud and clear. He stares determinedly out the window as the miles of highway slip by in a blur.

* * *

The vineyard is breathtaking. They stand on a grassy knoll in the bright sunshine; below them, rows and rows of grape vines stretch out into the horizon. Behind them, a long, low building with a terracotta tiled roof serves as the vineyard’s offices and restaurant. Couples dine on the restaurant’s stone patio underneath a sturdy wooden pergola. David’s imagination whirs, picturing fairy lights wrapped around the pergola beams and chairs brought in to cover the lawn for the ceremony. No, benches. No, chairs. An altar at the edge of the hill. The pictures would be incredible: Patrick and Rachel, the colors of the sunset playing off their pale skin, the vineyard below.

David is so lost in thought he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps, barely registers as a low, familiar voice mumbles his name. He startles when he feels a large hand press into his back and blinks just in time to notice – incoming – Jake’s lips seeking his in greeting.

“David,” Jake repeats, still standing directly in his personal bubble. His usual flannel is tied around his waist, leaving his arms bared in his ratty, gray tank top. His tanned, built, distracting arms. “What a lovely surprise.”

David nods in agreement and glances at his guests – his clients, fuck, this isn’t particularly professional. Rachel doesn’t seem to mind, she’s grinning like she won the lottery. Patrick, on the other hand, has his fists clenched by his sides and his mouth drawn in one tight line. “Jake, this is Patrick and Rachel, I’m planning their wedding. What are you, um, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, not much,” Jake says, leaning back against the wooden frame of the pergola. “Putting the last coat of stain on this baby.”

“You’re a painter?” Rachel inquires.

Jake smiles flirtatiously. Well, David’s not sure if it’s meant to be flirtatious; it’s simply Jake’s default face. “A carpenter. I built this puppy.”

“You _built_ this?” Patrick exclaims. “By – by yourself?”

“Sure did, handsome. Why? Are you a builder, too? You’ve certainly got the arms for it.”

“Yeah, um, you know,” Patrick sputters. David wonders why straight men always feel like they have to compete to be the biggest, strongest lumberjack in the room. “I’ve built, um, some stuff.”

Rachel snorts. “Excuse me? When was the last time you built anything?”

“I have—”

“Why don’t we all take a seat and enjoy a glass of wine?” David interrupts, eager to head off a fight before being stuck in a car together for the two hour return trip. “Jake, it was… memorable to see you as always.”

“Likewise, David,” he replies, and kisses David once more on the mouth. “Call me,” Jake murmurs, and struts off.

“A glass of wine sounds perfect,” Rachel says. “I’ll go get it. Will you boys grab us a table? Patty, I know what you like. David, what can I get you?”

“Cabernet, please, Rachel. Thanks.”

Patrick and David select a table at the edge of the patio. All the available tables are set for two, so David grabs a third chair from another table and wedges into the small open space. Ugh, being single is exhausting. He checks his Instagram.

davidroseweddings **. . .** Liked by **lilbitalexis** and **36 others**  
**davidroseweddings** this vineyard is a perfect, romantic spot for your special day #wedding #weddingvenue #weddingplanner #vineyard View 1 comment 12 minutes ago

Not bad at all.

“So,” Patrick says, with malice in his voice. “Can we talk about how you yelled at me for giving you some friendly advice and a ride home just because I’m engaged, but this whole time, you were also not single?”

“I am single!” David protests. “I am very, very single.”

“I haven’t been single in a long time, David, but that back there was not exactly how I acted when I was.”

Great, now Patrick thinks he’s a hypocrite _and_ a slut, and maybe he is or used to be one or both of those things, but there’s absolutely no comparison between Patrick being engaged and Jake being Jake. “You are insufferably smug.”

“What is your problem?”

“You’re the one with the problem,” David spits. “Seriously, “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” as your wedding song? You might as well draw up the divorce papers right now.”

Patrick shakes his head back and forth and lets out a menacing chuckle. “Alright David, I have a confession to make. That afternoon, in front of the motel? I was attracted to you. I thought you were interesting and passionate and determined. And maybe I was a little unsure about the whole marriage thing. But bottom line, nothing happened. And bottom line? Now, more than ever, I believe Rachel is the one for me. And now that I know you? You hide it behind snarky comments, try to make it seem like it’s all a big joke to you, but you are bitter and cynical down to the core.”

It offends David, how easily this near-stranger can see past his carefully crafted facade. Luckily, Rachel is back from the bar, and David can drown his feelings in wine.

“This place is absolutely perfect,” she declares. “I think we should put down a deposit.”

Patrick freezes with his wine glass halfway to his mouth. “I don’t know, Rach… it’s only the first place we’ve seen.”

“So? It’s gorgeous and romantic and they have delicious wine! Name one thing you don’t like about it.”

“It’s a little far from town,” Patrick offers. “Look, I love it, but all I’m saying is that we should look at one or two more places before we commit.”

Rachel sighs. “Fine. But you two will have to go while I’m away on my business trip next week.”

“What?” Patrick yelps. “But I… I can’t be trusted with that!”

“That’s why you have David. You know what I like, and David has taste enough for the both of us,” Rachel soothes, patting his arm. “And speaking of David!” She turns on him like a shark smelling blood. “You never told me about _Jake_!”

David forces a smile as he downs his wine and wishes the ground below would open up and swallow him whole.


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's work on the "to friends" part of this "enemies to friends to lovers" thing, shall we?

“Good morning,” David mutters as he climbs in the car, twisting around to drop his black leather tote bag in the backseat before settling in.

While they had convinced Rachel to wait until her return to tour more venues, she had still left them a to-do list for her absence. Today, Patrick and David were off to accomplish

1\. Pick out your wedding band 😊

David questioned whether this was an appropriate activity for the groom and the wedding planner to do together, but Rachel insisted that Patrick needed his guiding hand.

# patrick and rachel

####  **Yesterday** 6:53 PM

Rachel
    Patty, I love you, but you wear the same outfit every day.
    Please take David with you to pick out the jewelry you’ll be wearing for the rest of your life.

Patrick
    Fine, fine.
    If that's ok with you, David?

David
    Happy to help!

That was one of the most blatant lies he ever told, and he once told Paris Hilton that yes, wearing a belt as a shirt was hot. At least no one could see his completely nonexistent poker face over texts.

####  **Yesterday** 7:05 PM

Patrick
    Great! Do you need a ride?
    I could pick you up tomorrow at 8:30?

David
    um
    yes please to the ride
    but could we do...9:30?

Patrick
    Sure, David.
    See you tomorrow!

David
    👍

So that’s how David finds himself, still far too early in the morning for his liking, in Patrick’s passenger seat once again. So they can go to the jeweler and pick out the ring Rachel will place on his finger at their wedding. When they promise to spend the rest of their lives together. Wonderful.

“Good morning, David!” Patrick chirps, far too alert. David merely grunts in response. “Here,” he continues, holding out a to-go cup. “Caramel macchiato, skim, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder, huh?”

David blinks in surprise. “Um, thank you. I’m… Impressed you remembered my order.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes. _This tastes better than normal_ , he thinks. Maybe Twyla had been practicing.

Patrick blushes. “Yes, well, I stopped at the café to get myself some tea, and I figured, since you wanted to meet later, that you probably weren’t used to getting up early, and you might need coffee, and I remembered you really enjoyed your coffee the first time we met there, so…”

David smiles, but his face quickly morphs into panic as he sees another car pull into the parking lot, and a man in a baggy knit sweater climb out.

“Oh fuck,” he swears. “Drive. Drive please, drive.” David slouches down in the seat and tucks his face into his shoulder, wishing he was a turtle and could retract into his shell to hide.

Patrick does as he’s told, k-turning out of the lot and pulling onto the highway towards Elmdale. “Um, is everything okay? Do you know that guy?”

“Unfortunately,” David says, rolling his shoulders and straightening out in his seat. “My ex, he’s a photographer. This morning my mother told us he was coming to town to talk about doing a photoshoot with her. Let’s just say that there’s no way this ends well.”

“Not a, uh, good ex?”

“Is there such thing?”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t really know,” Patrick says, sheepishly.

“Wow. High school sweethearts, right,” David nods. “Or should I say, middle school sweethearts? Armageddon, super romantic, Patrick.” He remembers that he hates Patrick. That he’s supposed to hate Patrick, but he doesn’t, if he’s being honest with himself. How could he, when Patrick brings him coffee and actually seems to care if he’s alright and is so, so easy to tease?

Patrick sighs. “That’s… yeah.” David stares at him, sure there’s more to the story. “I didn’t mean for it to be a date. We were eleven. I thought I was asking my best friend to go see a cool new movie because we both thought outer space was cool. I was so confused when her mom didn’t sit with us,” Patrick chuckles at the memory. “I asked Rachel about it, and she said, ‘Yeah, isn’t it nice? She’s letting us be alone for our date.’ And she grabbed my hand and held onto it for the whole movie.”

“And you’ve been together ever since?”

“On and off. But mostly on,” Patrick replies. “Rachel, she’s exactly what I need. I’m a details guy, a numbers guy. She sees the big picture. So yeah, we broke up once or twice in high school, and when we went away to college, and a few times after, but… we fit. And she’s my best friend. And everyone always says, you should marry your best friend? Right?”

“So I’ve heard,” David agrees.

Patrick looks over at him, left hand on the wheel, right hand tapping on his leg. “Thank you for coming with me today, David. I’m sure there are much better places you could be.”

“Not really, no. This is my job, as you may recall.”

“Right, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Your job, I mean. What ever happened with the store? Were you going to stop planning weddings?”

“Ah, yes,” David sighs. “I applied for the lease, but they gave it to a year-round Christmas store. My own mother cast the deciding vote.” Off Patrick’s look of confusion, he adds, “She’s on the town council.”

“Ah, I see. So your mother is… a big fan of Christmas?”

“Hardly,” David scoffs. He hesitates, but Patrick already knows too much about him, so why not give him the whole story? “I thought I could do it. The store, I mean. Because I ran art galleries, back in New York. But when my mom told me I didn’t get the lease, she also told me that they had been paying off all my patrons and selling out all my shows. So it’s not that she loves Christmas, it’s more that she doesn’t trust me to run a business without them secretly bankrolling the whole thing.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Patrick says, painfully earnest as always. “You could do it, David. You can.”

“You don’t know that,” he objects.

“I do, actually. For one thing, you have a great idea. And don’t forget, I do this for a living, so I seriously mean that,” Patrick reminds him. “And. You’re already doing it, aren’t you? You built this whole wedding planning business all on your own,” he looks over at David pointedly. “At the very least, I can promise you that your parents did not pay me and Rachel to hire you.”

“Thank you,” David murmurs, trying to keep his features neutral. “I do like wedding planning. And I want to keep doing it. But more, consulting? I would sell goods and produce and cheese from local artisans and farmers, and I would offer design consulting sessions for weddings, bridal showers, all sorts of events.”

“Baby showers?” Patrick interrupts.

David shudders. “Absolutely not, babies are dirty and loud and have no place within my aesthetic.”

Patrick dips his chin in assent. “Of course, of course.”

“Anyway, I would encourage people to buy their party goods from my store, so double the money for me,” David continues. “It’s designing and planning that I really love. I could do without spending every Saturday night corralling drunk bridesmaids.”

“Or taking helpless grooms shopping for wedding rings?”

A smile overtakes David’s face without his permission. “No,” he asserts. “This, I like.”

* * *

Patrick stares wide-eyed at the tray of wedding bands in front of him. The store’s lone salesperson had measured Patrick’s finger the moment they walked in the door and immediately started plucking options in his size from a variety of display cases. They quickly accumulated the assortment of rings now sitting atop the glass counter and seemingly, David thinks, causing Patrick distress.

“So there’s platinum, which is classic, and yellow gold, and white gold. Any one of them would look lovely with your skin tone. And all of those can come in different finishes, matte, satin, high polish. Then, in terms of width, there’s plenty of variation, different widths look best on different hands. And shape, there’s flat and domed, of course, but also—”

The bell above the store’s door chimes, indicating the presence of another customer. The salesperson’s eyes dart back and forth, unsure where to focus their attention.

“I think we’ll take a minute to try some of these on,” David says, saving them the choice. “We’ll let you know if we have questions.” They smile and go to greet the new arrival.

Patrick heaves a deep breath. “I didn’t think,” he starts. “Um, I guess I just didn’t realize there would be so many choices to make.”

“That’s why I’m here,” David reassures. “I may be single, but I know a thing or two about rings.” He wiggles his right fingers to show off his signature accessories, today arranged two each on his pointer and ring fingers. Patrick cracks a smile and watches as David scans his options. He plucks a classic yellow gold band off the tray, with a polished finish and domed shape. “Try this.”

Patrick holds the band delicately between his index finger and thumb and raises it to eye level. “It’s nice, I think?” He says, voice a little wobbly. He slips it on and holds out his hand, considering it. Immediately, he starts breathing faster, his extended hand shaking. Eyes wild, he reaches to tug it off. “I can’t. Shit, it’s stuck. David, I can’t—”

“Shh,” David soothes. “Let me.” He grabs Patrick’s hand, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. “Deep breaths, Patrick.” With his other hand, David reaches into his bag and pulls out a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirts a dollop on Patrick’s ring finger and, still soothing with his thumb, slides the ring easily over the knuckle. “There we go.” He wipes the band off on Patrick’s sleeve and deposits it back onto the tray. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” David says simply.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, finally breathing normally once more. “Let’s go.”

David makes their excuses to the salesperson and they slip out the door. They drive in silence, not even the radio as a buffer. David stares out the windshield, allowing the monotonous view of the highway rolling by to calm him.

Patrick keeps glancing over at him and returning his attention quickly to the road. Finally, after more than half an hour, he says, “Thank you.”

“I remind you again, this is my job.”

“You know what I mean, David,” Patrick shakes his head. “You didn’t know you were going to have to talk me off the ledge when you agreed to come today. There were just… too many options.”

“Oh, believe me, I know how stressful jewelry shopping can be. I once couldn’t pick between three different chokers for the Teen Choice Awards in 2003, and so I bought them all. And wore them all. It landed me on the worst dressed list, and also, I couldn’t breathe.”

Patrick chuckles. He pauses, and then he says, “I’m sorry I called you bitter and cynical.”

“I am actually both of those things, so don’t worry about it.”

“And I’m sorry for what I said to you about that guy. Jake. It’s none of my business who you’re dating, or not dating, or whatever you do with your personal life.”

“Well,” David says, finally chancing a look over at Patrick. “That apology I will accept.” He hesitates, but forges on. “And while we’re on the subject of things we regret saying that day, I’m sorry I implied your marriage was doomed to fail just because you picked a disgustingly sappy song for your first dance.”

“Would we say ‘implied’ or maybe, ‘swore with 100 percent confidence’?”

“Okay,” David snaps, but there’s no malice in it. “Do you want this apology or not?”

“Thank you, David,” Patrick says sincerely. “I accept.”

He notices with a start that they’ve arrived back at the motel. Patrick parks the car, and no one mentions the déjà vu. “How about we celebrate this truce? I have some clients to meet this afternoon, but can I buy you a drink later?”

David’s mouth moves to one side in a shy smile. “I’d like that.” He’d like that a little too much, actually, but that’s a problem for another day. He unbuckles and opens the door, stretching his long limbs as he climbs out of the car.

“I’ll pick you up at nine,” Patrick promises, and David believes him.


	6. chapter six

Everything is sticky: the cracked pleather bar stool, the dark wooden countertop, the situation. David sips at his cosmopolitan, brain buzzing with worst case scenarios. Sebastien will sell the photos, obviously. Moira will crawl into her closet, probably, and may never emerge. Will anyone care? Will Sunset Bay fans come to town to gawk? Or will the photos slip by unnoticed in the back half of some tabloid people flip through in line at the grocery store but never actually buy?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Patrick asks from beside him, where he sits nursing a beer. Patrick seems to have his life together. David is suddenly struck by an urgent need to ask his advice.

“Remember the, uh, my ex? From the motel this morning?” David asks. “My mother told me that Sebastien was here to whisk her away to some exotic locale for an editorial photoshoot. And, as I explicitly told her would happen, my mother comes home and says that Sebastien took photos of her here. All dressed up in couture and standing in an overgrown field. Lied to her about planning another shoot. He’s going to sell those photos and he’s going to ruin her.”

“Would he really do that to her? To you? I know you broke up, but he must still care about you.” 

Oh sweet, ex-less Patrick.

“Sebastien Raine is a monster who uses people and leaves them for dead.”

Patrick turns the full force of those big, sad eyes on him. “He… left you for dead?”

“He convinced me that expanding into photography would open up my gallery to a whole new clientele. Then he showed up to the opening night party I threw him for his exhibition with a date. The whole time we were “together” he was actually seeing other people. He told me that I, as a professional myself, should understand his motivations to further his career.” David waves his hand, trying to banish the memory. “It’s ancient history. Now, I need to get that memory card. Maybe you should drive me back and I can go seduce him, or something.” 

He says it with a smirk, like he’s kidding, like he’s above such tactics. Like he didn’t coiff his hair extra high tonight and put on his trusty, guaranteed-to-pull Rick Owens leather jacket with exactly that purpose in mind.

“I’m sorry, David.” Patrick frowns with his entire face. It must be exhausting to feel so many feelings all the time.

“Mmm, don’t worry about it. I can’t even say that’s the worst way I’ve ever been dumped. Remind me to tell you about the birthday clown.”

Patrick’s frown deepens – David’s attempt to diffuse the situation has failed. His eye catches on something above David’s shoulder. “Oh, crap, incoming.”

“What—”

“David,” a cold voice drawls. “So good to see you. You look really… healthy.” David’s whole body cringes as Sebastien leans in and kisses him on both cheeks.

“Hi! I’m Patrick.” He breaks in, extending a hand to shake and separating David and Sebastien. “I like your camera.” The asshole is wearing it around his neck like a tourist in Times Square, always eager to distinguish himself from the masses.

“An artist never knows where inspiration may strike. Like you.” Sebastien takes Patrick’s outstretched hand and kisses the back of it. “The light is catching you so beautifully in this rustic ambiance, I’d love to photograph you. Perhaps shirtless?”

“I think you’ve taken enough unwanted photos of people for today, Sebastien,” David interjects.

“David, your mother is a revelation. This is the way she was meant to be presented to the world. I’m sure Patrick would agree with me.” He turns on the camera, pulling up the day’s photos. He unwinds it from his neck and passes it to Patrick. “Look how haunting Moira is.”

“I’m sure she’d be thrilled about that adjective,” David snarks.

Sebastien continues unaffected. “You must be David’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, no—”

“Patrick is my client.”

That catches Sebastien’s attention. He turns on David and grabs his face in his hands. “So brave,” he says. “To use the wondrous gifts of your body to support your family in their time of deepest need.”

David’s eyes roll so far back in his head he thinks they might get stuck. He shakes off Sebastien’s hands. “Not that there’s anything wrong with sex work, Sebastien, but I plan weddings. I’m planning Patrick’s wedding.”

Sebastien chuckles, a glint in his eye that David used to find exciting but now fills him with dread. “Reminds me of a saying. ‘Those who can’t do, teach.’” David stubbornly holds eye contact. “Those who can’t wed…”

_Plop. Fizz._

“Aw shucks,” Patrick says. “How did that happen? The memory card fell out of your camera into my hand, and then fell out of my hand into my drink.”

David’s heart clenches; so does Sebastien’s jaw. The photographer freezes, unsure whether to fight or retreat. Sebastien moves through the world like it owes him a favor, but he’s fundamentally weak under that veneer of self-importance, David can see that now. Finally, he snatches his camera back from Patrick.

“It was really good to see you, Sebastien,” David sings. “Good luck with the rest of your project.” Sebastien stalks off, cursing under his breath. David feels light as air, like he’s full of helium and floating like a balloon.

Smile wide, David shifts in his seat to face Patrick and sees the tiny memory card giving off bubbles in his half-drunk glass of beer. “It looks like you could use a fresh drink. May I?”

* * *

David is fuzzy. The world is fuzzy? The world is spinning. He’s beginning to think that he might be drunk. He had to get a second drink to match Patrick, it was only polite, and then a third drink to forget the feeling of Sebastien’s grubby hands on his face – he tries to make a note to do an extra deep cleanse tonight. But he can’t make any notes. He can’t do anything? His arms and legs might be made of lead.

He feels warm. It might be the leather jacket he’s wearing in the early summer heat. It might be Patrick. He ordered the fourth drink in the hopes it would numb him to Patrick, who is so fucking off-limits, and who he hates. Or something. Anyway, it didn’t work, so David had a fifth drink because why the hell not, cosmos are pink and pink is pretty and the ice cubes felt good on his tongue, which was kind of on fire.

“David?” he hears. From where? Is that God? “David, you do have your keys, right?”

It’s not the voice of God but it is the voice of Patrick, and David thinks they’re probably both just as soothing. His awareness of the world around him slowly sharpens until he realizes he’s standing on the concrete outside his room, and the warmth he’s feeling is Patrick’s hand around his bicep. It’s probably the only thing keeping him upright.

“David? Keys?” Right. Keys. David might get murdered first in his bed by the door but he is definitely getting murdered extra first standing outside in the parking lot all night. He pulls the key out of his pocket but can’t seem to extend his elbow to put it in the lock. He can see Patrick’s bemused grin out of the corner of his eye as he plucks the key out of David’s hand to do it for him. David thinks if he was currently capable of feeling anything except spinny he would be embarrassed at his own helplessness.

“Quick!” David momentarily regains enough control of his functions to shove Patrick through the door and slam it shut behind them. “Can’t let the moths in.”

Patrick stumbles but recovers, grinning wider now. “Don’t worry David, I won’t let any moths hurt you.”

“Yeah,” David flops backwards onto his bed. “You won’t. No moths and no Sebastien. Uch. I hate that slimeball and his stupid greasy hair and how he was cheating on me and I totally knew it but I thought I deserved it for not being a good enough boyfriend. Except I wasn’t even good enough to be his boyfriend for real.”

David lets his head hang backwards over the edge of the bed; he discovers that Patrick is also cute upside down, what _nerve_. He rolls onto his side. Patrick hands him a glass of water. He thinks he should apologize to Patrick for having to pick through Alexis’ piles of crap to find the glass, but words seem impossible.

Patrick’s hand reaches out to tentatively stroke down his arm. “You are too good to be his boyfriend, David. He’s stupid, Jesus, I can’t imagine. I… If you were my…” He trails off, opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he sighs, and speaks again. “It’s getting late, I should go.”

“Thanks for bringing me home. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“You’re not.” David raises an eyebrow. “Maybe just a little bit,” Patrick laughs. He crosses to the door and hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. “Lots of water, two aspirin—”

“Okay, dad, I’ve been drunk before.”

“Good night, David.”

The door clicks behind Patrick as he leaves, and David, suddenly sweaty, sits up to struggle out of his jacket. He hunches over to fight the nausea and sips at the water Patrick brought him. David knows he’s in over his head, knows he’s well and truly falling for Patrick. It’s absolutely just his fucking luck. Falling for the guy whose wedding he’s planning like he’s in a bad movie, fuck. 

Except Patrick is so much better than all the romcom boyfriends, and not just because he’s real. Somehow, he’s real. And he’s getting married, to someone who is not David in any way, shape, or form, so David really needs to get his shit together or maybe quit this job. Except he actually needs to work for a living now and can’t quit things whenever he wants, fuck again.

An insistent knock at the door brings David back down to earth. He gets ups to answer it, tripping over his feet. “Oh my God, Alexis, maybe if you cleaned up your shit once in a while you’d be able to find your keys!” He opens the door. It isn’t Alexis standing there.

It’s Patrick.

“Hi. I… Do you ever think about that afternoon, in my car?” He asks, hands jammed in his pockets. “Because I think about it all the time. David, I barely know you. I don’t know how you came to live in this motel room, or be a wedding planner. I don’t know when or why you started wearing so many sweaters. But I do know that you are a good person, David Rose. I know that you’re funny and impressive and you built something from nothing. And now I know that you have arms, hello, I’ve never seen your arms before, and – that’s not the point. I know that anyone who ever hurt you is astronomically stupid. And I know that I’ve never felt so drawn to anyone, so attracted to anyone in my life as I did the day I met you.”

It takes a strength David didn’t know he had not to grab Patrick by his stupid broad shoulders and kiss him on his stupid pink mouth. New York David would’ve done it without a second thought; he had done it, plenty of times, and none of those people had been half as nice or cared half as much about him as Patrick does. He leans against the doorframe for support and wishes he was more sober. Or more drunk, he’s not sure which would be better. As if this conversation could ever be easy.

“Please say something,” Patrick pleads. David thought he knew the power of Patrick’s big owl eyes before, but he’s never seen them so bright and begging. 

David takes a deep breath in through his nose and exhales it out his mouth. He cracks a sad, small smile. “It’s simple. I know Rachel. I respect her. And she loves you. And you’re getting married. So besides your tux measurements, that’s all I need to know.” David shuts his eyes tightly. “Please go away.”

Patrick nods, just once. “Goodnight, David,” he says, and he turns on his heel and does as he’s told.


	7. chapter seven

David can’t get out of bed. Well, he did once already this morning, but it was terrible, so he’s decided never to do it again. He’s hungover, majorly, but whether the alcohol or the emotional rollercoaster of the previous evening is more to blame for his pounding headache and rolling stomach, David can’t be sure.

Alexis had traipsed in at some point the night before; she went to bed after him and woke up before. David stirred as she returned from her run and got in the shower. Desperate to maintain some semblance of normalcy, he got up and dressed in his Rick Owens drop crotch joggers and a soft McQueen sweater and sat on his bed, halfheartedly scrolling through his phone but mostly running the night before on a loop in his brain like a Vine. As soon as Alexis left for work David retreated back under the covers, where he will likely remain for the rest of his days.

He’s angry, he knows that much, but he can’t decide who at. His parents, for bringing him into this world. Himself, for spending his life chasing care and affection, only to deny it when someone finally offered. And Patrick. Patrick obviously wants out of his engagement – David knows yesterday’s wedding ring panic attack was more about the wedding than the ring – but did he have to ask David to be his escape route?

His phone buzzes. He wants to ignore it, but habit ingrained from years of Alexis SOS texts won’t let him.

# stevie

####  **Today** 10:08 AM

Stevie
    happy birthday, loser
    to celebrate I’m taking you out to dinner tonight at 8

Stevie
    clarification, we are going to the cafe and splitting the bill

He tosses the phone back on his nightstand. He needs much more sleep before he can attempt to explain to Stevie that he isn’t available for any social plans outside of the Rosebud Motel in the future. After a long while, the phone buzzes again.

####  **Today** 10:25 AM

Stevie
    attendance is mandatory

Fuck. Even though 8pm is… a lot of hours from now (too hungover for math), he can’t say for sure that he’ll be recovered by then. Still, Stevie remembered his birthday, which is more than he can say for any of his family members. Plus, she wants to celebrate, which makes him feel uncomfortably warm and fuzzy inside. David also knows from experience she doesn’t take no for an answer and would physically drag him out of bed if necessary.

####  **Today** 10:25 AM

Stevie
    attendance is mandatory

####  **Today** 10:29 AM

David
    👍
    thanks

Stevie
    don’t make it weird

Someone knocks at the door, three quick raps. David puts his head under his pillow. Maybe he can crawl inside the mattress if he tries hard enough? Alexis can come through their parents’ room, or get Stevie to let her in, or never come back, David couldn’t care less.

The knocks return. “David?” It’s not Alexis. “David? It’s Rachel. Are you there?”

Oh fuck. He sits up too fast and grips the edge of the bed as he rides out the head rush. “One minute!” At least he’s already dressed. He straightens out his covers and runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame the bedhead, but it’s a lost cause. He opens the door.

“Hi! Rachel! Come in!” She looks frazzled. This can’t be good. “What, um, I thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days?”

She hovers inside the doorway, hands on her elbows, standing even shorter than normal. “I came back early.”

“Why? I mean, um, is everything ok?” 

“I’ve figured some things out.” Rachel shakes her head. “I’ve been blind. I didn’t want to see it, so I tried to ignore the signs. I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Oh shit, did Patrick _tell_ her? It seems like something he would do, honestly, the Boy Scout. Fuck. “Let me explain, it’s not what you think.”

“I was sitting in some boring meeting about who even knows what,” she continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “and it hit me that this isn’t going to work. I hate the way he leaves his smelly gym bag by the front door for me to trip over. I hate how he can’t do anything without asking a spreadsheet for permission first. He was the first guy I kissed, first guy I slept with. Sure, there were a few in between, but is he really going to be the last? I’ve been with him so long I don’t even know why we’re together anymore.”

That is, um, not quite what David was expecting her to say. And how is he possibly supposed to respond? Gee, that’s quite convenient, your fiancé doesn’t seem to want to marry you either, and maybe if you break up I can kiss him? As if Patrick would ever talk to David again after he got what we wanted and got his freedom back.

“Look,” he says carefully. “I appreciate that you trust me and wanted to come to me about this, but this is an extremely personal decision, and I think it’s a conversation you need to have with Patrick.” 

Rachel nods sadly. “I know,” she says. “I just don’t know what to do. I love him, I swear, but…”

David awkwardly pats her shoulder. “I get it. Well. I don’t _really_ get it, I’ve never been um, engaged, or in love, or… I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Thanks, David. Strangely, that does make me feel a little better,” she chuckles. “I feel terrible though, wasting all your time. I mean, if we do break up, God, I’m still so conflicted.”

He waves a hand to dismiss her concerns. “Please, don’t worry about me. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

Rachel considers him closely. He knows he’s a mess, all rumpled hair and barefooted. “Are you okay? You don’t look like yourself.”

And fuck, he can’t exactly tell her the truth, but she’s too perceptive to accept a brush-off. So he picks an entirely un-Patrick-related concern. “Has your family ever forgotten your birthday? Like your parents, and your sister, collectively, as a whole?”

“No, I can’t say that they have,” Rachel pauses awkwardly. “I’m getting the impression that it’s your birthday? Happy birthday, David!”

He grimaces. “Thanks.” Rachel looks genuinely upset, which wasn’t the goal. “It’s okay,” David continues quickly. “My friend is taking me out for dinner, so the day isn’t a totally lost cause.”

“I’m glad,” Rachel smiles. She takes a deep breath. “I should go. I have a lot to think about.”

David doesn’t trust himself to do anything but nod. “Good luck.”

She leaves, and he wriggles his shoulders, trying to shake out the nerves. God, this whole situation gets messier and messier by the day, and there’s nothing David hates more than mess. He takes deep breaths as his heartbeat slowly calms. With many hours left until dinner, he gets back in bed.

“Oh, David! I thought I heard your dulcet tones.”

He pulls the comforter up over his head. “David’s not here,” he mumbles.

Moira clucks her tongue. “Best to leave the histrionics to this family’s professional thespian, dear.” She sits down on his leg, forcing him to budge over.

“What do you want, mother?” David groans as he sits up against the headboard.

“Aren’t we a sourpuss today! I come bearing the most felicitous tidings from council. It seems our year-round Yuletide chums have decided to park their sleigh at a different chimney, so to speak.”

He can’t say he’s surprised a big chain store like Christmas World decided Schitt’s Creek wasn’t worth its investment. “So?”

Moira smiles, her red lipstick bright. “It means, my dear, that the lease to the space is available once more. And it’s yours, if you remain keen on the prospect.”

“I…” David’s head spins. He had managed to put the store entirely out of mind. But _it’s a good idea, David,_ he thinks, and it’s Patrick’s voice in his head. Damnit, that’s a problem for another time. Right now, he has a choice to make. “Yes,” he says firmly. “I want the space.”

“Wonderful!” Moira claps her hands together at her chest. “Now, mummy has to return her proboscis to the sharpening wheel, as they say. I trust you’ll swing by later and put your John Hancock on the relevant documents?”

David nods absently, brain already swimming with to-dos. “Sure.”

Moira places her hand on his shoulder and looks at him fiercely. David can barely stand it. “David, dear,” she says. “I do so look forward to seeing what magnificent arrangements you will create in your new endeavor.”

“Thanks, mom,” he says softly.

“Alright, I’ve disturbed your slumber long enough.” Moira stands. “Soak it in now. You won’t have time to siesta like the Spanish once you have a storefront to mind!” She pats his arm twice and swans out.

Alone at last, David allows a smile to cross his face from ear to ear while he shimmies with glee. Then he lays back down. Sure, there are vendors to call and contracts to draw up and things he has to do that he’s never even heard of, he’s sure, but his mother (as much as it pains him to admit) is right. His days of midday naps are numbered; better take advantage while he can.

* * *

“There’s so much paperwork, Stevie. I have to file forms to incorporate, and forms because I want to sell food, and I need to file for a liquor license to sell wine. And I need to buy furniture, and finalize my label design, and get it printed.” 

David scrapes his fork against the plate, unwilling to leave a single crumb of cake or bite of chocolate frosting behind. He and Stevie are the last remaining patrons in the café, sipping mediocre red wine and catching up on each other’s lives. “Do you know anyone who hangs up big letters on the outside of buildings?” he continues. “Every business in the world has its name on the building, and you never stop to think about who put that up there. And who made it. And what is it made out of?”

“I can’t decide if that’s deep and philosophical or the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Stevie ponders. “I bet Patrick knows someone who hangs big letters on buildings.”

David shakes his head and licks his fork. “He never wants to speak to me again.”

“I don’t usually destroy property and risk a lawsuit or a bar fight to help people I never want to speak to again,” Stevie counters.

“Please, Sebastien would never injure his trigger finger,” David deflects. “Patrick just… has some sort of damsel in distress complex, I guess, I don’t know.”

Stevie drains the last of her wine glass. “Let’s pay and let George go home.” She narrows her eyes at him. “I like this for you.” 

“Yeah, I need to go wish Alexis a happy graduation,” David agrees as he stands, brushing crumbs off his Neil Barrett lightning bolt sweatshirt. “Wait, like what? Patrick? Even if he doesn’t hate me, he is literally engaged to be married. There is nothing to like.” 

“From everything you’ve told me about the last 24 hours, it doesn’t seem like that engagement is long for this world,” Stevie resists. They each leave a few bills on the table and turn to leave.

“But that doesn’t mean he wants me!”

“He literally knocked on your door last night and told you he wants you,” she reminds him as she pushes open the café door.

“Oh no, no, no,” David protests, following her outside. “I mean, yes, but he didn’t mean it. Here’s what happened. He saw Jake kiss me that day at the winery, and then I said I was single, and he thought, okay, David will kiss anyone, I could kiss him, then what a great reason to not get married.”

“Sure, David. Then why is he sitting in his car right now staring at us?”

“What?” David whips his head around and there, sure enough, pulled up to the curb outside the café is Patrick.

He gives a shy smile and ducks his head. David can’t see through the darkness and the windshield, but he imagines Patrick’s pale skin flushed pink with embarrassment. He rolls down the window.

“Hi, David, Stevie,” he says sheepishly. “David, do you, uh, need a ride?”

“Almost always, yes,” David replies automatically, but he doesn’t move. He looks at Stevie.

She waves him towards the car with both hands and a deliberate point of her chin. “Have a great night, David.”

“Oh, suck on a tailpipe,” he says as he opens the car door and climbs in.

“Hi,” Patrick says again as he puts the car in drive.

“Hi,” David squints. “So were you … in the neighborhood?”

“Ah, no,” Patrick admits. “I needed to talk to you, and Rachel told me your friend was taking you out for a birthday dinner. There’s only one restaurant in this town, so I made an educated guess. And happy birthday, by the way.”

“Mmm.” There’s nowhere to hide in a town this small. David’s foot taps nervously. He wants to scream, _what do you need to talk to me about???_ But instead, he says, “So, um, how is Rachel?” 

“We’re not getting married,” Patrick says plainly. “We broke up.”

David nods slowly, not sure how to respond. He thinks cheering would be inappropriate, but saying he’s sorry would be a flagrant lie. He settles on a little teasing. “And would you say that you broke up with her, or she broke up with you?”

“Would you believe me if I told you we both sat down and tried to break up with each other at the same time?”

He can, but he doesn’t want to admit that he knew Patrick was getting dumped before Patrick did. “Did she… did she say why?” he diverts.

Patrick stares stubbornly at the road in front of him. “She needs to find her own path in life. Figure out who she is on her own, and what she really wants. And I…”

“And you? What does Patrick want?” _Please say me, please say me._

He puts the car in park in front of the motel. Still buckled in, he turns to face David across the console and takes a deep breath. “I want to kiss you.”

“I think that can be arranged,” David whispers, and he leans in. His broad hand comes to rest on Patrick’s neck as his thumb strokes gently on his cheekbone. They hover forehead to forehead, each still a little scared to close that last, tiny gap. But Patrick broke up with his fiancé and drove here and sat outside the café for who knows how long and asked for what he wanted. Patrick has already been so brave tonight, so David shows his courage right back and presses his lips softly to Patrick’s.

He feels Patrick smile into the kiss, feels a puff of air that escapes out of Patrick’s nose as their mouths make contact. One of Patrick’s hands reaches out to thumb lightly at David’s hip, while the other rests along the car door. Their lips move, exploring, trying to find that one perfect angle where everything just fits. But David knows there’s no rush. Even if Patrick’s nose is a little sharp against his cheekbone, every angle is pretty damn amazing.

The seatbelt stretches to its limit as David inches even closer to Patrick. He considers unfastening it, but leaves it be. The pressure on his chest steadies him, reminds him that he’s here, that he’s alive. The physical restraint might also be the only thing stopping him from climbing into Patrick’s lap and eating him alive. He keeps his mouth closed, his kiss chaste. David doubts anyone has ever described him as gentle, but he wants to be gentle for Patrick. Gentle with Patrick. He thinks they both deserve it.

When they separate, finally, David keeps his eyes locked on Patrick. No signs of regret; only a fond, contented smile. Good. David curls his mouth firmly to one side, as if he could lock up all the overwhelming joy he’s feeling in the purse of his lips, keep it stored there for a rainy day.

“I have news,” he hears himself saying. “Christmas World dropped out, and the lease is mine. The store is happening.”

“Congratulations, David,” Patrick grins. “That’s a big deal.”

“Mmm,” David agrees. “I’m nervous, but excited. I went by the space today and found out there’s an office upstairs that’s perfect for my design consultations. It’s like, actually happening.” He hesitates before continuing. “You were right, a few weeks ago? I definitely need more startup money. And you mentioned there were grants you could help me apply for? Does that offer still stand?”

Patrick's eyes brighten further, somehow. “Of course it does,” he murmurs as he takes David’s hand and rubs it gently. “Hey, did you ever finish oscillating on a name?”

“Rose Apothecary,” David states proudly. When it came time to fill out his paperwork this afternoon, he’d written it down without hesitation.

“I like it,” Patrick says. “It’s just pretentious enough.”

“Would we call that pretentious, or timeless?”

Patrick presses their lips together again, briefly but thoroughly, a hand on David’s chin. He pulls back just enough to murmur, “David Rose. _You_ are timeless.”

David has no choice then but to kiss him back, if only to stop him from saying anything else he isn’t ready to hear. It’s their third kiss. It’s too soon, it’s barely begun, it’s completely absurd. But David can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they could be timeless too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It's done! This is the first time I've ever written anything longer than a one-shot, and I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading.
> 
> And also - this chapter contains one Harry Potter reference and one Arrested Development reference. +100 meaningless internet points to anyone who can find them.


End file.
